


Puppy Dog Tales

by riventhorn



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the weekends, Harvey and Mike unwind with a little puppy play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Dog Tales

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe my first foray into this fandom is a fluffy puppy play fic. And it is very fluffy. I've left the exact status of their relationship intentionally vague--it could be read as slash or pre-slash or non-sexual. No sex occurs in the fic. 
> 
> Oh, and I apologize for the awful pun in the title. 
> 
> Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this

A wet tongue licking his face jolted Harvey from sleep. Groaning, he turned his face into the pillow. It couldn’t be more than 6:00 a.m. On a Saturday. A _Saturday_. 

What had ever possessed him to get a puppy?

The licking continued, this time on his ear. 

“No,” he said, freeing a hand from under the covers and pushing Mike away. “Go lie down. You aren’t allowed on the bed anyway.”

A tentative lick on his jaw.

“Go. Lie. Down.” 

A huff of air, and then the mattress sprang upwards as Mike’s weight disappeared. There were a few blissful moments of peace. And then a pitiful whimper sounded from the corner.

Harvey gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. The whimpering continued. Leveraging himself onto an elbow, he peered down at where Mike was curled up. On an air mattress. With microfiber blankets and three pillows. Hell, his puppy’s bed was probably more comfortable than his own. 

Mike, seeing that Harvey was watching, rolled onto his stomach and gave him a beseeching stare.

Harvey dropped back down. “Fine. Get up here.”

Mike kneed him in the stomach as he clambered over him and then under the blankets. He curled up against him, and Harvey started petting him, running his fingers through his short hair. 

It was soothing—for both of them—and Harvey was just about to doze off when Mike licked him again. 

“ _No_ ,” Harvey told him, glaring.

Mike just wriggled happily against him, his eyes laughing. 

“You want breakfast, don’t you?” Sighing, Harvey threw back the covers and got up, Mike tumbling to the floor next to him. He found his bathrobe, and they went into the kitchen, Mike pausing to bark at a bird that had dared to land on the deck. 

“Quiet,” Harvey admonished. “You’ll wake the neighbors.” 

Mike sat down by his food bowl, eyes glued to Harvey, waiting expectantly. Harvey took out a bag and then rummaged around in a drawer for a pair of scissors. 

“You’re going to like this,” he told Mike. He’d better like it. Ray had driven twenty minutes out of the way to take him to the pet boutique, and then Harvey had spent an additional fifteen minutes looking through the absolutely ridiculous number of potential dog treats and food that lined the shelves. He’d finally caved and asked the saleslady for advice. “Give me something I would want to eat,” he had told her, and she had laughed and handed him a bag of organic peanut butter, chickpea flour, and maple syrup treats—chewy, not hard. 

He poured a generous cupful into Mike’s bowl.

Mike put his paw on the edge of the bowl, tipping it over. They both watched as the little treats rolled around on the floor. 

Two minutes later, Harvey was emptying a box of pancake mix into a bowl and tripping over Mike—who insisted on being underfoot—as he went to the fridge to grab the milk.

Pancakes were the one thing he could cook, and damn Donna for letting that fact slip to Mike one day. 

He fed Mike by hand—and received a little nip if the morsel of pancake did not receive a generous dollop of syrup. “You,” he told Mike, “are asking for it.” 

Mike licked the syrup from his fingers and ignored him. 

After breakfast, Mike found a patch of sunlight in front of the deck doors and stretched out, still in his boxers and a t-shirt. Harvey went and showered, shaved, and dressed. When he came back out, Mike was fast asleep, snoring a little. He’d been at the firm past eleven three nights that week, working on their latest case. 

Harvey seized the opportunity to go into his office and catch up on some personal paperwork. Usually he had to spend at least an hour amusing Mike with various squeaky toys, and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He got caught up in his work, and when next he looked at the clock it was 10:30. Pausing, Harvey listened intently. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. 

“Mike!” he called.

No response.

Instantly suspicious, Harvey strode into the living room. No Mike. He hastened towards the bedroom. If Mike had _dared_ —

He spotted Mike immediately, lying by the closet and happily gnawing on one of his Berluti shoes. 

“Bad dog!” Harvey snapped, and Mike dropped the shoe, hunching his shoulders. Harvey snatched it up, inspecting the leather. 

“This,” he told Mike, “is a _Berluti_.” 

Guileless blue eyes blinked up at him.

“Which means absolutely nothing to you.” Harvey sighed and put the shoe back in his closet and shut the door firmly. “Rene would be apoplectic if he knew what you just did.”

Mike whimpered.

“Yes, exactly.” 

He went and found Mike’s plush tiger and squeaked it a few times before tossing it to him. Mike picked it up in his mouth and carried it with him as he followed Harvey to the couch. 

“You are not getting up on this couch with me,” Harvey informed him. “Puppies don’t belong on the furniture.” 

Mike put his toy tiger down and, placing his paw on the squeaker, began pressing it repeatedly.

Harvey lasted all of three minutes before he was patting his leg and Mike was jumping up. It took them a moment to get settled, as Mike was really too big to fit comfortably in his lap. They ended up with Harvey stretched out lengthwise, head propped up on some pillows, Mike sprawled on his chest. Harvey rubbed one hand up and down Mike’s back, the other gently scratching the cropped hair at the nape of his neck.

The repetitive motion drained the last bit of tension from them. Mike nuzzled against him a moment and then rested his head down with a sigh. Harvey smiled and kept petting. 

It had taken them a while to figure this out, but damn it felt good. Mike was lavished with attention and affection, and it didn’t matter that he could recite _War and Peace_ from memory because he never had to say anything. And Harvey got to give him that affection without over-analyzing every word and gesture because Mike was a puppy, and puppies didn’t have hidden agendas. 

It wasn’t orthodox. But then, they didn’t really do orthodox. 

“You’re going to eat that food I bought you for dinner,” Harvey murmured, letting his eyes close. “The filet mignon was a one time thing.”

Mike’s shoulders shook with a suppressed laugh, and Harvey grinned. After all, they both knew what was in the takeout bag sitting in the fridge.


End file.
